


Upsetting Ties

by Devils_Open



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: ...For Eli At Least, Canon-Typical Behavior, Gen, I’m Gonna Say It Now, Juvenile Tantrums, These Two bone... But This Series Is All For Laughs, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25647553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devils_Open/pseuds/Devils_Open
Summary: Since the universe has a very ironic sense of humor, of course he’d end up sent to that guy’s house...
Relationships: Liquid Snake/Venom Snake
Kudos: 7
Collections: V/Eli domestic extravaganza





	Upsetting Ties

Suitcases were packed before it was ever considered to be worth discussing. There was no argument, because he simply didn’t _know_. 

If he had, things would’ve been different. 

Hindsight’s always a bitch when you know you could’ve done different, and he’s feeling especially conflicted on the matter. He’s stewing in his own petulance, and making quite a show of it, too. 

“It’s not _fair_.” His youth seeps into the sneered declaration with a high, adenoidal hum from the top of his throat. “You can’t _do_ this to me, mother!” 

“Oh, Eli. Don’t be so dramatic.” Eva swerves to avoid potholes every now and then. Her grip on the wide frame of the steering wheel stays a conservative ten and two. “Both of you, actually. You’re too old to be throwing a fit over being left alone. Your uncle Ahab is a nice man, you’ll see. If you’d just give him a chance.” 

A monotonous voice on the radio reads off inconsequential details of the week’s predicted weather, with momentary intermissions consisting of the local station’s music and a few advertisements. 

Eli kicks the radio’s screen with his shoe and grumbles, crossing his arms. 

The last time he saw this ‘uncle Ahab’ character was when he was around nine, and the guy hardly talked at all. Eli was thrown off by it instantly.

His father’s voice is thick and strident; he penetrates the room’s atmosphere with an unabashedly condescending diction, as though he _wants_ you to feel like a quiet fool when he speaks. And uncle Ahab looks exactly like him, yet the man doesn’t speak a word out of turn. 

He was avoidant, non-confrontational. Eli finds it downright unsettling. 

He’s not sure if they’re long-lost twins or just two like-minded bastards who happened to share the same unfortunate, grievously loathe-worthy face. He feels about the same way towards himself and Dave, so it’s not so much of a stretch. Even twins have subtle differences. 

He’s not partial to the man either way, but he certainly doesn’t want to see him in person for any reason at all. One father is enough, he doesn’t need a second. 

“But why _him_?” He strains against his seatbelt, pressing himself flush along the door wishing he’d melt right through it and dissolve, mix in with the rainwater filling the potholes his mother so conscientiously avoids. “I don’t understand why it couldn’t have been aunt Cecile, or uncle Kaz.” He curls his lip as if smelling something rotten. “Even uncle _Adam_ sounds better than this.” 

Eva sends him a dismissive look, and frowns. “Your uncle is nothing like your father, Eli. He’ll be patient with you— you should be grateful for this. It’s better than another stay at Miller’s, right?” Her manicured finger drums softly against the steering wheel. “I know you don’t like what your father puts you up to when you’re there. Uncle Ahab is…” she moves her head in a so-so fashion, “different from most of the men your father keeps. He’ll be lenient, sweetie.”

She casts an expectant look towards Eli and frowns when it isn’t received. “Excuse me,” she places her hand on Eli’s knee briefly before he jerks away, turning his gaze out the window. “Eli, there’s no reason to pout.” 

Eli pulls his arms close to his chest defensively, both crossed in a tight knot. “I am not _pouting_.” 

Eva sighs. “Whatever you want to call it, it’s unnecessary.”

“I just, just—“ Eli hardly manages the words, overwhelmed with frustration and acrimony on the matter, “I just want to understand why it had to be him, mother? He’s— I don’t really _know_ him but he’s _exactly_ like—“

“Eli, he is _not_. I told you. He’ll be a more lax experience than you’re anticipating. I’m aware they look alike but that’s nothing to say for their individual personalities.” 

“I’m _aware_ that uncle Kaz would’ve b—“ _babysat_ being far too infantilizing of himself, he scrounges for a new word, “ _watched_ us. He _sucks_ but, but _mother_ …”

“Actually, I’m glad you brought him up.” 

Eva glances from Eli to the rearview mirror, sharing a brief moment of eye contact with Dave in the backseat before breaking it. She settles on watching the road, her voice lowering attentively as she takes a deep breath, Eli waiting with his own bated. 

“Boys… you aren’t _both_ staying with your uncle Ahab.” 

Eli shoots up out of his seat, staring at his mother with wide eyes. “What the hell does _that_ mean?” 

“Your father decided that you boys are better off vacationing separately, that’s all.” 

“ _Vacationing_ ,” Eli repeats. “That’s what this is, then? He thinks he can run off like usual without any notice to us and just, just _dump_ us with a _nobody_?” Eli laughs, shaking his head. “How fucking typical.” 

“Language, Eli.” Eva glares at him until her anger slowly melts away. She understands his dissatisfaction with this more than he knows. “Your father thinks— well, everyone agrees that it would be better for David to stay with someone more closely related to your father’s work.” 

Eli throws his head back and laughs at the unbelievable irony of it all, that his father - whom has always demanded impeccable posture and unwavering devotion to training regimes - thinks he’s better off with someone who _isn’t_ uncle “ _Hell-Master_ ” Miller. 

“Since when is _he_ the only one who gets to decide what we do or where we go? Couldn’t you have said, I don’t know, _something_? And, who is ‘everyone’? Are you—“ he narrows his eyes, pointing at his mother accusingly, “are you saying he made this decision with someone else? It was uncle _Adam_ , _wasn’t_ it—“ 

“That’s enough, Eli.” Eva never shouts at Eli, but when her voice reaches that broad, orotund diction conveying a irrefutable seriousness, he knows she’s had it. “We’re through with this discussion. I’m taking your brother to Miller’s vacation home in Maryland and then you’re going to your Uncle Ahab’s, whether you like it or not.” 

Eli gapes at her, stunned, for as long as he can stand to keep his voice silent before turning back towards the window and huffing loudly. 

He hates this. Hates it so much he may just open the door now and roll out onto the wet pavement, but he knows his own comfort isn’t all that’s riding on this. Other people are punished for his disobedience, too. 

“Whatever.” 

Eva sighs as if relieved at his complacency, or rather his submission. “He’s a quiet man, you’ll hardly see one another, I’m sure. Plus,” she looks at the side of his face still turned to her and dares to waggle a brow, “he’s got a young wife, too. She’s a decent cook, I hear. Better than aunt Cecile. I bet you’ll be begging to stay by the time I come pick you up.” 

With Eli’s cold shoulder pushing her away like a hydraulic press, she sets her gaze back on the road, brows low, feeling a bit scorned. 

“He’s _settled down_ , Eli. He has a home, a wife, a job no different from any regular civilian. This isn’t your father I’m taking you to.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“But you understand my point. Not many men in your father’s line of work find themselves in a situation like this.” Eva looks at Eli with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I wouldn’t leave you with just anyone, honey. You know that. Right?” 

Once again, she attempts to place a delicate hand on Eli’s leg. He jerks away. She frowns, her voice brittle. “I wouldn’t go through with this just because he asked me to. I love you too much for that, sweetie. Do you understand?” 

Eli doesn’t reply. 

Eva turns back to the road with a quiet storm of emotions inside her chest, and Eli’s own just the same. Both of them say nothing for a while. 

Washington D.C is a dreary place, and wetter than any other state or district Eli has personally ever seen. It started raining the second they crossed state lines and hasn’t shown any signs of stopping since. 

Fat droplets slide down the window relentlessly, displacing the muted sunlight on the horizon into fractured mosaics of white and off-white colors, mingled with the headlights of passing cars. He counts the endless splitting trails of fluid and wishes really, really badly that he were back home. 

Instead, he’s cramped in some _shitty_ family wagon, no doubt expressly incognito, on his way to a relative’s house who’s by all means a total _stranger_. 

Yeah, he’s fucking angry. 

He huffs and slides down into his seat until the belt snags on the curve of his chin, determined to burn a hole right through the vehicle’s floorboard with his irritable vexation. 

After a time, Dave finally pipes up from his place in the back seat. 

He comments occasionally on the brief intersections between highway and small town roads, on the architecture they pass when the more high-end areas begin to greet them, on the schools, inquiring as to if his father placed their uncle in the national’s capital for a notable purpose. 

The benign chatter threatens to lighten the mood, and it certainly does so on Eva’s. So naturally, Eli grows irritated with that, too. 

Dave asks if the weather will be different in Maryland as opposed to deeper in the city and Eli’s resolve finally breaks. 

“What,” he sneers, “are you thinking of moving in?” He bares his teeth and bites off the end of every word. “By all means, go ahead.” 

“Eli,” 

Eva shoots him a look of warning, and Eli once again goes silent. It takes nearly biting a hole through his tongue to do so, but he manages, somehow. 

He lowers into his seat as though willing himself to become a part of it, and sits stiff with his arms crossed, neck craned towards the window. No one says a single word throughout the remainder of the trip, and he’s perfectly fine with that. By the time their family wagon - adorned with hand-me-down seat covers and weathered tires losing their tread, which Eli’s always thought were tacky and dull - rolls up to the entrance of a townhome, Eli finds himself yawning, stretching uncomfortably in his limited space. 

He’s unsure when exactly he fell asleep but his neck and spine are already paying the price for it. 

Eva parks the car adjacent to a blanched sidewalk beside a bustling main road, surrounded by tall buildings with roofing no more than faint silhouettes through the heavy rain and fog. She doesn’t even turn the engine off, Eli notes. 

She leans over to Eli and unbuckles him without warning. 

“Mother, I— I can do it myself!” 

“Hush, munchkin. Go get your bags.” 

Eli sighs hard enough to rattle his vocal cords into a groan, but does as he’s told nonetheless. 

Eva reaches under the dashboard and pops the mechanism for the trunk as Eli steps out. A cold breeze blows through him instantly, sending a shiver down his spine. He rounds the vehicle’s end wishing he’d packed clothing more appropriate for the climate. 

Eva takes over, repacking what few articles of clothing fell out on the bumpier backroads they took, and hands Eli the occasional travel bag, neatly zipped up. 

It isn’t until she grabs a loose pair of boxers that Eli goes pale in the face and tries to snatch it away. The sight of his mother holding his briefs has him feeling notably chivalrous all of the sudden. 

“I— I can get those myself. Seriously—“ 

“Honey, you’re my _son_.” Eva folds the wayward pair on the surface of her thigh and tucks it back into the correct suitcase. “There’s no part of you I haven’t seen, alright? Now come on,” she closes the trunk’s door and pushes past Eli, one suitcase in hand as opposed to the two travel bags Eli’s struggling to hold on to. 

“ _Gross_ , mother…” Eli purses his lip, wanting to say more but ultimately following without a real retort. 

They cross the small sliver of road between them and the sidewalk quickly, half-jogging up to the entrance of the sizable townhome. They ascend a small flight of steps to stand beneath a shallow overhang above the front door, shielding them from the rain. 

The townhome itself dons bay windows stacked atop each other on opposing corners that face the street, with two-tone bricks and warped tin gutters. It’s less of a colonial visage than the rest of the dull architecture he’s seen so far, but he can’t help but look at it and think how very old it all seems. 

Everything around looks as though it was built without the least bit of imagination. Eli finds it all exceedingly boring. 

He can’t help but peer into the darkness of those curved windows and wonder what lies beyond their ashen, ripple fold curtains. If there’s a man worth knowing, or if he’s exactly what expectation precedes. 

Eva’s voice brings him back to a state of conscious listening, despite how badly he’d rather dwell on the specificities and allow himself to brew up more passionate animosity. 

Her hand gingerly caresses the curve of his cheek, the corners of her eyes crinkled with a small smile, braver than him. “My boy,” her doting gaze sends his stomach into a tizzy, but he lets it go, “you’re getting so _big_... You’d better behave for your uncle, I’m serious. Do it for me, okay? Can you do that much? It’s just a week, honey. That’s all I’m asking.” 

Eli shrugs one shoulder and doesn’t deign to spare her so much as a glance. Eva sighs. 

She attempts kissing his forehead, but Eli jerks away with his teeth bared, glowering with adolescent embarrassment at such a childish gesture. Everyone knows a boy is too old to kiss his mother by the time he’s fifteen. Eli thinks that’s common knowledge, and for damned good reason. 

He nudges out of her grip and Eva steps back defeatedly, taking in one last sight of him before turning her attention back towards the door. 

She knocks an irregular number of times. Suddenly, Eli can’t stand still. 

He assumes a stiff posture, rod-like, his limbs achingly tense and not just from the cramped ride over in that shitty station wagon. 

It seems to be finally setting in that he’s about to spend an entire week in what’s more or less a stranger’s home, and in a foreign city to boot. He rolls anxiously on the balls of his feet. Struggling for composure, he takes a few deep breaths. 

The universe has a very ironic sense of comedic timing, it seems, as the moment he’s finally breathing evenly, all the air in his lungs is ripped from him the moment the front door finally opens. 

The man that greets them is a towering presence that Eli belatedly realizes is not such a far cry from his father as Eva made him out to be. 

He has a broad chest below a wiry beard, and a wayward crop of brown, unruly hair, the tufts around his neck almost reaching his shoulders. His arms are thick as tree trunks, squeezed by his grey crew neck with a slight swell of abs just a touch beyond being fully visible, even despite the fabric. 

Eli can smell the noxious waft of sweet tobacco and wormwood - his own father comes to mind, bearing the same scent if a bit more foul. At least this man’s home smells only a touch cleaner. 

He fixates on every feature he can stand to observe without recoiling - because he is exactly like his father - and tries to find the subtle inconsistencies; 

His crew neck shirt, unscathed around the collar, lacking grease stains and muted cinnabar blossoms where blood once spattered for god-only-knows what reason; the scathing routes along his face where surgical stitches and staples once clung together what was likely crumbling apart; his expression stone-stoic and neutral, but lacking that abrasive, belittling downward glance along the bridge of his nose. Besides the subtle details no one of importance would notice, few differences stand out. 

They’re carbon copies, save for a handful of minute facets to their appearance. 

This guy’s hair is thicker atop the crown of his head too, where Eli knows his father’s would be thinner, grayed along the sideburns. His muscle mass looks to be substantially greater than his father’s as well, not to mention his skin which, despite the scars, is lacking those telltale grimace lines and subtle dips between the brow, and the angry wrinkles along the forehead. 

Eli can remember hushed conversations within the family about his uncle being under comatose for a while, and would almost wager that’s why he wasn’t so present in Eli’s life. But this guy is cut to Hell. There’s no way his muscles have seen even a moment of dormancy over the past decade. 

Eva steps aside and her presence as a final bastion between Eli and his uncle fades away like a forgotten memory, as the world suddenly revolves around Eli and this enigma of a stranger before him. 

Naturally, he’s the first to look away with a forcefully unemotional expression, frowning as if unaffected. The pearls of sweat down his brow could surely pass as droplets of rain. 

“Honey, would you like to say hello to your uncle?” 

Eva invades his space with a honeyed tone, suggestive that he may tread carefully so as not to make this any harder than it has to be. 

Eli clutches his travel bags close to his chest, scowling. He won’t spare either of them a glance. 

Eva slides a hand over his forehead and pats the unruly tufts of blonde that cast out along his hairline. He tries to jerk away. 

“You have to say something, munchkin—“

That detestable tone of undue lovingness snaps his attention in two, his patience a twig bent against his own knee as he swats his mother’s hand away. 

“ _God_ , can you _not_ do this right now? I’m not here to make a new _friend_ , mother. This— This is _stupid_. Can’t we just hurry this along.” 

Eva slides a hand over her face, sighing. She’s tired, more of this redundant game of drop-off and pick-up than of Eli‘s behavior. It’s not entirely his fault, she knows. 

She gives Ahab a look of apology, and they both seem to understand. 

“Why don’t I show him to his room?” 

A quiet suggestion, irrefutably addled with a certain tremulous caution no one is willing to acknowledge. Ahab nods, and lets them pass. 

Eli wants to fume at the sight of them so buddy-buddy. He pushes past his uncle and makes sure he’s not the one to step out of the way when their shoulders accidentally bump into one another on the way by. 

The interior of Ahab’s home is nothing to be jealous of. 

Eli snickers to himself as a point, eyeing the muted greige color of the walls to the silvered carpet that was once surely white, before cigar smoke absorbed into the fibers. There isn’t a single family photo on any wall. Only bookshelves with the occasional framed item - some of what Eli knows are cassette tapes, a few pins and patches of symbols he’s never seen. A couple of ribbons, military mementos. 

Eva leads him through the dimly-lit living room towards the open concept kitchen, hanging an immediate right. The small hallway is dark. She flicks on a light. 

She ushers him forward by the shoulders and Eli can’t help but feel as though he’s a prisoner being guided to solitary. 

The thought isn’t comforting in the slightest, especially given who that would make the warden. 

Inside the room, Eli drops his travel bags unceremoniously to the floor. Eva gives him a look over it, but doesn’t say anything. She passes on the suitcase to Eli and he gives it a contesting glare, hating what it’s very existence implies. 

Who are they to tear him from his town, his school, his fucking domain, for this? 

Eli spits, and throws the suitcase against the wall above what he supposes is meant to be his new bed. It bounces against the mattress on the descent. He hopes it left a dent in the ugly, eggshell paint. 

He’s not impressed with his new dwellings anymore than the rest of the house. Compact with clean walls and a twin bed, there's obviously a lack of preparedness for a guest. Perhaps the intent behind the lone football poster boasting a “pigskin 4 lyfe!” would be appreciated by someone in their good graces, but that would not be Eli; he tears it down with a roll of his eyes and tosses it on the floor. 

Eva doesn’t attempt touching him. She stands in the threshold with the door slightly ajar, her gaze not quite meeting his. Neither of them want this. 

“Be safe, remember your medication. Don’t get into trouble, either. You know your father doesn’t like bad report cards.” She cracks a smile that’s tight-lipped, the humor lost on Eli. “That wasn’t funny, I know.” She sighs, shaking her head, scolding herself as if Eli’s dry look of disapproval wasn’t enough. 

She crosses the room to Eli and takes both of his hands in hers, even when he grumbles and tries to pull them away. 

“Honey, you know this isn’t a punishment, right? You’re not here because I wanted you to be, things just… happen sometimes. I try my best but you know I can’t control your father. He thinks this is what’s best for you.” 

Eli scoffs, looking to the floor instead of Eva. She leans into his line of sight anyway, her expression sympathetic. 

“My boy,” she lifts his chin with her index finger, moving to cup his cheek with a soft smile, “you really are growing into a handsome young man. Is this…” her mouth opens and closes a few times, ultimately clamping shut before she finally speaks, brittle and cautious. “Is this really what you want?” 

Eli looks at her bewildered, belatedly disagreeing. “Of course not!”

“I know you don’t want to be _here_ , Eli, that’s not what I meant. I mean at home, with me, your father, David. Is this… are you happy, sweetie?” 

The inquiry catches Eli off guard. 

Since when is it any of her concern how he truly feels, how content he is with his life? 

Of course he wishes things were different. Of course he wants a change, sure, he would have it differently if he could. But that’s just not possible. 

He has nothing but nightmares from his earlier years with his father; waking up at four in the morning for what he dubbed ‘preparedness drills’, whatever the hell that means, at nine years old already subsisting on rations and MREs because he was told one day, that’s all he would have. Plush animal toys ripped from him on the basis of getting used to being alone, because it would make him stronger somehow. Army recruitment pamphlets stuffed into his backpack every morning, recitations of dull anthems in a droll tone that always earned him a slap upside the head. 

Sure, he would change things if he could. Emphasis on the _if._

What a stupid question. Eli tries to pull away from her. She doesn’t resist. 

“I’m _fine_ , mother.” He crosses his arms. “I would be a lot happier if I were a thousand miles away from here, and from _him_ ,” he doesn’t know if he’s referring to his uncle, or his father, and supposes they’re one in the same, “but I don’t really care.” He steps back and plops down on the bed, shaking the frame. “I don’t plan on leaving this room anytime soon anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” 

Eva’s expression contorts. “But, if you had an out, or a way of changing things—“ 

“I don’t want to talk about hypotheticals, mother! I want to be alone!” He trains his eyes on the wall behind her, not even gracing her with a solid glance. “I’m tired, so just… just leave me be.” 

It takes a few agonizing seconds, but she finally leaves him with great trepidation making every step out the door somehow feel like the last, the definitive. 

Eli falls backward on the bed, arms sprawled, staring at the ceiling. He sighs. 

As much as the prospect of lying on this very mattress until his spine grows roots with the foundation sounds appropriate for the circumstances, Eli’s never been one to do things in halves, nor give up. 

Recalling countless days in D-hall at school has a scheme bouncing off the walls of his mind. 

He’s never been one to accept being cornered, either.

He quickly rises from the bed and approaches the only window in the bedroom, above a small desk. Pressing his fingers against the lock mechanism, he grunts, knuckles blanching and turning purple as he tries to push it open before he finally gives up with a sigh. 

Stepping back, he presses his shoulder blades out, rolling his neck, still working off the cramps from being stuck in the same position for hours. He takes a breath before grabbing the window’s latches, and trying again. 

A knock at the door has him spinning in a circle to face the entrance, his breath bated as he waits, unsure if he heard right. 

He almost opts to not answer it. He _wouldn’t_ , if he knew if were anyone else. 

Curiosity is one coercive bastard, though. 

He dons a frown as unimpressed as he can manage, brows level, head tilted to glance only down the bridge of his nose. He opens the door, and somehow his anger worsens tenfold. 

Ahab stands in the middle of the doorway and yet takes up ninety percent of it. His posture as straight-backed and unshakable as the man he shares a likeness with, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He gives Eli a once-over and a neutral glance towards the other end of the hall. 

“Hey, kid.”

Eli raises one very uninterested brow, but doesn’t respond. 

“There’s spaghetti-o’s on the stove. If you’re hungry.” 

Eli purses his lips and widens his stance, exuding faux-cockiness as he often does. 

“What, did you make them for me?” He sneers, bellowing a cynic voice. “Sorry but I’m not hungry for whatever _you’ve_ made.” He bites off every word, his jaw snapping as he grits his teeth with a glare. 

“Alright.” Ahab shrugs. “Suit yourself.” 

Without another word, Ahab turns his back to Eli and walks away. 

Eli sticks his head out the door and watches him go with a fallen stance, his mouth ajar, wondering just where this uncle of his gets off being so damn curt. 

He steps back into the room, and slams the door. 

That’s exactly what’s so unsettling about the guy; how unwilling he is to argue. Conflict is bred into every man in his family, and yet there he is, somehow silent, unobtrusive, unwilling to confront Eli’s purposeful insolence. 

Eli doesn’t understand him, and he doesn’t understand this fucking trip or his own family, his own father for putting him here. 

With a headache dawning on him, he gives up on trying to figure anything out. He hasn’t come up with any solid answers over the last fifteen years; the chances of getting any on a trip like this are slim to none. 

Shoving that distasteful interaction from his mind, he packs the provided dresser with his clothes and decorates the desktop beneath the small window leniently, placing his medications and syringes in order of frequency taken, keeping the strict schedules fresh in his mind. 

His surroundings breathe the very aura of discomfort. He loathes it all. 

Lying down on the bed with his face buried in the crook of his elbow, he mutters about something with disdain, completely lax without the energy to move. 

Why should he care that some stupid adult thinks patronizing babytalk and kid food is enough to lure him out? Their ignorance is not his loss. He can manage on his own. 

Still, though… 

His curiosity threatens to undo him, he fears. Despite himself, however, he finds the idea of exploring the house rather enticing. There could always be a quick escape route he hadn’t pegged on the way in. If he plays his cards right, he may be halfway to uncle Kaz’ on foot by morning. 

He tries to brave every aspect of this as best he can, he really does. Mentally acknowledging what he can bear to do so, as much as he plots his scarce means of escaping. He has no choice. He’ll have to leave at some point anyway, right… 

He uprights himself and grips the door handle out to the hall numerous times before stumbling back over to the bed and cursing himself. 

He’d call it a logical hesitancy because these are uncharted waters, but what does he gain from such an admission? He’s being cowardly, for some man he doesn’t even know, and he hasn’t any idea as to why. This guy shouldn’t get to him so easily, he’s a nobody. 

Finally standing and crossing the small room to the door, he pulls it open, gritting his teeth, bearing it. Stepping out into the hall feels like crossing a threshold into someone else’s territory; a violation. 

Memories of his father drunkenly fumbling with bottles, confused and angered as he raged about the house giving orders to furniture and cursing inanimate objects enter his mind. 

Eli recalls everything, and realizes this uncle of his may very well be the exact same. He’s silent, but that serves as no testament to his deviation from the chaos which every man in their family happens to be. 

He swallows his own fear, refusing to give something that isn’t even an issue yet any kind of bearing over him. 

His father seems intent on making this a learning curve of some sort, surely. If that _is_ the case, then Eli is more than prepared to thwart whatever conniving efforts he’s planned on using. 

The door to the bedroom shuts behind him, and the hall’s end is as far as he gets before turning on his heel at the sight of his uncle. He scurries back to his room, figurative tail unfortunately tucked. 

It seems this trip may prove a challenge after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll be really transparent here and say that this series of fics will be the product of what’s essentially only halfway strewn together domestic scenario prompts, so there’s no intent on coherency with a timeline or significant plot to name, just some good old fashioned uncle/nephew that’s a little less than cognizant and somewhat freaky...


End file.
